Do you have an online shop? Love to check out other shops, and would love some free advertising? This is the place for you!

Just click the blue button below to add a link to one of your shop items. Type your SHOP NAME in the box that says "name".The linky will change every Wednesday, so be sure to come back and add your shop.

There will be 5 shops featured each week, chosen from those that joined the previous week.

*How did you decide on your shop name? Why did you start your business?

Wendy's Wonders came about through friends that thought I should have a bakers corner in a coffee shop. Although I love baking for others, my passion for knitting accessories over took the name. So, with the support of loved ones I was encouraged to start a shop.

*What’s your supply addiction; is there a specific color or type of supply you just can’t pass up?

I have a few addictions when it comes to supplies. I love natural fibers, whether it is wool, mohair, angora, spun, dyed or un-dyed I love it all and get an itch to make something wonderful and warm. Can one person every have enough yarn? Never!

*What do you do when you’re not being an artist? What activities do you enjoy?

When I am not knitting, I tend to find myself in the kitchen, baking and cooking for my family and friends. But on wonderfully sunny days I will be outside tinkering in the barn with this and that and enjoying the company of our kitty cats that call the barn home.

*Which item in your shop did you enjoy making the most and why?

My Favorite item in my shop, Hmm.. There are many, but I would have to say the Fingerless gloves that are made with Hand Painted wool.. This yarn is painted by a friend of mine and it is just gorgeous!

*What keeps you motivated?

Motivation is everywhere. Could be a new type of yarn, or a picture. My kids inspire me also, with there quick uncensored thoughts.

*If you could give a piece of advice to a new shop - what would it be?

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome. I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade. The ones who concerned me were the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded 'truck stop germ'; the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks... I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot. After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and peppershaker was exactly in its place, not a breadcrumb Or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table.

Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto his cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met. Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work.

He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months. A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news. Bell Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Bell Ringer a withering look. He grinned. 'OK, Frannie , what was that all about?' he asked..

'We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay.' 'I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?'

Frannie quickly told Bell Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery then sighed: 'Yeah, I'm glad he is going to be OK,' she said. 'But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is.' Bell Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables. Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do. After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face. 'What's up?' I asked. 'I didn't get that table where Bell Ringer and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off,' she said. 'This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup.'

She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed 'Something For Stevie'.

'Pony Pete asked me what that was all about,' she said, 'so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this.'She handed me another paper napkin that had 'Something For Stevie' scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: 'Truckers!!'

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called ten times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back. Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting 'Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast,' I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. 'Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!' I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins 'First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess,' I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had 'Something for Stevie' printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table. Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother. 'There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems.. 'Happy Thanksgiving.' Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well. But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table..... Best worker I ever hired. Plant a seed and watch it grow..

If you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a compassionate person.

Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting.

Do you have an online shop? Love to check out other shops, and would love some free advertising? This is the place for you!

Just click the blue button below to add a link to one of your shop items. Type your SHOP NAME in the box that says "name".The linky will change every Wednesday, so be sure to come back and add your shop.

There will be 5 shops featured each week, chosen from those that joined the previous week.

We are a mother/daughter team of jewelry designers from Louisville, KY

*How did you decide on your shop name?

Brenda (mother) decided to create a shop name using the first letter of my name, Alea. We also wanted our shop name to convey the high-end style of our jewelry.

*Why did you start your business?

After several years of making jewelry for fun, we wanted to try our luck at selling our designs.

*What are 5 things you want people to think when they see your product?

5 things we want people to think when they see our product are:

high quality

creative

beautiful

stylish

high end

*What’s your supply addiction; is there a specific color or type of supply you just can’t pass up?

Each year, we try to make a trip to NYC to stock up on supplies (metalsmith tools, sterling silver sheet, briolettes, rondelles, cabochons, various sterling silver & gold filled findings). Gemstones are our favorite items to purchase during those trips.

*What do you do when you’re not being an artist? What activities do you enjoy?

Jean heaved another world-weary sigh. Tucking a strand of shiny black hair behind her ear, she frowned at the teetering tower of Christmas cards waiting to be signed. What was the point? How could she sign only one name? A "couple" required two people, and she was just one.The legal separation from Don had left her feeling vacant and incomplete. Maybe she would skip the cards this year. And the holiday decorating. Truthfully, even a tree felt like more than she could manage. She had canceled out of the caroling party and the church nativity pageant. Christmas was to be shared, and she had no one to share it with.The doorbell's insistent ring startled her. Padding to the door in her thick socks, Jean cracked it open against the frigid December night. She peered into the empty darkness of the porch. Instead of a friendly face -- something she could use about now -- she found only a jaunty green gift bag perched on the railing. From whom? she wondered. And why?Under the bright kitchen light, she pulled out handfuls of shredded gold tinsel, feeling for a gift. Instead, her fingers plucked an envelope from the bottom. Tucked inside was a typed letter. It was a...story?

The little boy was new to the Denmark orphanage, and Christmas was drawing near, Jean read. Already caught up in the tale, she settled into a kitchen chair.

From the other children, he heard tales of a wondrous tree that would appear in the hall on Christmas Eve and of the scores of candles that would light its branches. He heard stories of the mysterious benefactor who made it possible each year.

The little boy's eyes opened wide at the mere thought of all that splendor. The only Christmas tree he had ever seen was through the fogged windows of other people's homes. There was even more, the children insisted. More? Oh, yes! Instead of the orphanage's regular fare of gruel, they would be served fragrant stew and crusty, hot bread that special night.

Last, and best of all, the little boy learned, each of them would receive a holiday treat. He would join the line of children to get his very own....

Jean turned the page. Instead of a continuation, she was startled to read: "Everyone needs to celebrate Christmas, wouldn't you agree? Watch for Part II." She refolded the paper while a faint smile teased the corner of her mouth.The next day was so busy that Jean forgot all about the story. That evening, she rushed home from work. If she hurried, she'd probably have enough time to decorate the mantle. She pulled out the box of garland, only to drop it when the doorbell rang. Opening the door, she found herself looking at a red gift bag. She reached for it eagerly and pulled out the piece of paper....to get his very own orange, Jean read. An orange? That's a treat? she thought incredulously.

An orange! Of his very own? Yes, the others assured him. There would be one apiece. The boy closed his eyes against the wonder of it all. A tree. Candles. A filling meal. And an orange of his very own.

He knew the smell, tangy sweet, but only the smell. He had sniffed oranges at the merchant's stall in the marketplace. Once he had even dared to rub a single finger over the brilliant, pocked skin. He fancied for days that his hand still smelled of orange. But to taste one, to eat one? Heaven.

The story ended abruptly, but Jean didn't mind. She knew more would follow.The next evening, Jean waited anxiously for the sound of the doorbell. She wasn't disappointed. This time, though, the embossed gold bag was heavier than the others had been. She tore into the envelope resting on top of the tissue paper.

Christmas Eve was all the children had been promised. The piney scent of fir competed with the aroma of lamb stew and homey yeast bread. Scores of candles diffused the room with golden halos. The boy watched in amazement as each child in turn eagerly claimed an orange and politely said "thank you."

The line moved quickly, and he found himself in front of the towering tree and the equally imposing headmaster.

"Too bad, young man, too bad. But the count was in before you arrived. It seems there are no more oranges. Next year. Yes, next year you will receive an orange."

Brokenhearted, the orphan raced up the stairs empty-handed to bury both his face and his tears beneath his pillow.

Wait! This wasn't how she wanted the story to go. Jean felt the boy's pain, his aloneness.

The boy felt a gentle tap on his back. He tried to still his sobs. The tap became more insistent until, at last, he pulled his head from under the pillow.

He smelled it before he saw it. A cloth napkin rested on the mattress. Tucked inside was a peeled orange, tangy sweet. It was made of segments saved from the others. A slice donated from each child. Together they added up to make one whole, complete fruit.

An orange of his very own.

Jean swiped at the tears trickling down her cheeks. From the bottom of the gift bag she pulled out an orange -- a foil-covered chocolate orange--already separated into segments. And for the first time in weeks, she smiled. Really smiled.She set about making copies of the story, wrapping individual slices of the chocolate orange. There was Mrs. Potter across the street, spending her first Christmas alone in 58 years. There was Melanie down the block, facing her second round of radiation. Her running partner, Jan, single-parenting a difficult teen. Lonely Mr. Bradford losing his eyesight, and Sue, sole care-giver to an aging mother....A piece from her might help make one whole.

Do you have an online shop? Love to check out other shops, and would love some free advertising? This is the place for you!

Just click the blue button below to add a link to one of your shop items. Type your SHOP NAME in the box that says "name".The linky will change every Wednesday, so be sure to come back and add your shop.

There will be 5 shops featured each week, chosen from those that joined the previous week.

My name is Carrie Bagalio. I am from Vermont....4th generation vermonter actually! Although I love to travel I'll always love living in Vermont. I grew up in central Vt with my parents & sister who have all been very supportive of my artistic talent. I went to Green Mountain College & Studio Arts Center International (florence) & since then have been working out of my home studios, & selling and showing where I can. I currently live in Stowe Vermont.

*Why did you start your business?

Its my biggest aspiration to be able to make a living from my art. I started my Etsy shop in hopes that it can be one of my stepping stones to the goal.

*What are 5 things you want people to think when they see your product?

I want people to feel happy.

I want them to connect with my art and be reminded of a similar situation.

I want people to have a warm feeling about people in there life.

I want people to be drawn in to the detail of the painting and enjoy daydreaming.

I want people to stop, think about and appreciate the moments and people in there daily ives.

*What’s your supply addiction; is there a specific color or type of supply you just can’t pass up?

Living in a small town, I go with what is closest! I don't aways have the option to be fussy with paint or canvas brands, so I'm not. I prefer cheap brushes because I know I will go threw them quickly regardless. (The worn out ones make great hair sticks!)

*What do you do when you’re not being an artist? What activities do you enjoy?

I love the outdoors. In the summer I'm a hiker and a biker. In the winter In a cross country skier and a snowshoer. I spend time hanging with my awesome husband and our basset hounds, spent time with friends......and........I'm a very hard working waitress. (aka=super determined woman)

*Which item in your shop did you enjoy making the most and why?

I enjoy painting as a whole. I start with an idea from everyday life, them get together someone to put into pictures.(always a fun time doing art photo shoot) My realism has a process where I get to be mathematical, and challenge my skill level. Then my colors and patters let me relax into a different looser stage of my creativity.

*What keeps you motivated?

My family always told me I was a great artist. Sounds simple, but it has always driven me. Plus I'm very stubborn.... I want this, so I will make it happen.

*If you could give a piece of advice to a new shop - what would it be?

In Etsy, I'm still new... Connect with others.As for advice to artists in general. ..Keep going, maintain your integrity. When I was in college I remember meeting so many outside "artists" that told their story.....it was their major, then they found something to pay the bills & don't have time for art. It was discouraging. I am determined. I have been out of college for 8+ years now, its hard, but I remember promising to myself I would not be another cell phone rep in trade for art. Yeah, I cant afford luxury things & I have to wait tables. (for now) I'm also experiencing life, painting about it, supported by others and know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.